Freed of His Toll
by 10MidnightArrow11
Summary: Before the savagery, before the blood, before the darkness, each of the boys had a life before the island. Formerly Ant Hills and Choir Robes. Pre-island. I'll give you virtual cookies if you can figure out the symbolism!
1. Behind Dark Eyes

**This lovely one-shot is my very first for ****Lord of the Flies****. After finishing the book, I jumped on the chance to write about it. William Golding's work was so wonderful, so full of depth, allegories, symbolism, fabulous characters, and about any other kind of thing a good writer's story should have, that I needed to find some way to pay tribute to it.**

**Without giving too much away, this takes place about a day or two before the horrible crash on that deserted island. **

**Disclaimer: No, none of this is mine. Sorry to disappoint, right Rog? **

**Roger: Shut up. **

**Well. **

The teacher droned on for the last few minutes of class, repeatedly dragging his wooden pointer across a chalkboard covered in meaningless words. When he finally had the generosity to release the poor students a mad dash ensued to see which raving animal could get out the door first. There was massive amount of pushing and shoving until a red head in a frumpy choir robe and three of his friends crossed the barrier.

A raven haired boy stood up quietly, grimly glancing around the almost empty classroom. He pulled each of his books one-by-one out of his desk and piled them neatly into the black satchel swung over the back of his chair. He had just grabbed the edge of the bag when the hair on the nape of his neck suddenly stood on end. Roger felt the presence of at least one pair of eyes resting on him. He turned violently around and fiercely stared down his new opponents.

Two large blond boys, with hair much shorter than his, stood side-by-side with their arms crossed.

Most kids would have run away at the sight of them, but not Roger, confrontation was normal for him.

"Hey Drake, do you know how fast a twit can run?" An unfamiliar glimmer appeared in the twin's eyes and he challenged Roger.

Roger gritted his teeth at the obnoxious tone of the boy's voice and turned back to his desk for the rest of his supplies.

"I don't know, but I think it would make a fun lesson John." The other twin, Drake cracked his knuckles as he spoke.

Roger mumbled an incoherent response; he didn't bother to move the just slightly too-long strands of hair that were now hanging in his eyes. He really hated twins; he was given more then enough harassment from his foster-family.

"Shut up choir boy."

The possibly near-deaf teacher didn't flinch when Drake's fist connected with the back of Roger's skull, even though he was obviously watching as he filed papers from the safety of his desk. Roger stumbled forward a bit and had to grip tightly to the desk as he fought the urge to show aggression. He knew the teacher's actions would have been different if he switched roles with the idiots insulting him and he really didn't need a trip to the headmaster's today.

Roger gulped a bit as he calmed himself. Roger's hands blindly sought the leather strap of his bag as he calmly turned and walked around the boys. He exited the classroom with a relieved sigh. Roger couldn't wait for the day he was an adult, then he wouldn't have to put up with morons and he could make his own rules.

He could hear shouting behind him and quickened his pace. Roger knew the twins would catch up to him eventually, but he hoped he would be far away from any wondering eyes by then. Merridew would kill him if he got detention; after all it conflicted with his strict choir schedule.

The tan boy flew down the hallway, bumping into nearly everyone in his way. Blurs of uniforms and trophy cases led Roger to the bustling courtyard. The sky was infuriatingly blue and cloudless, but Roger hardly took interest in weather.

"You, get back here!"

"We're not done with you!" The twins' voices were nearing, but by the time they had pushed open the great wooded door into the square Roger had already leapt over countless groups of studying children, ran through a littlun's fort, and hid behind a picnic table.

Sweat ran down Roger's long-sleeved white shirt in his hunched over position and he smiled for the first time that day from the thrill of a chase. It was a grim and slightly sadistic smile, but a smile all the same.

His fingers clenched and unclenched around the dry dirt that surrounded him. Roger's bag hung diagonally from his shoulder to his hip, weighed down by his many books and heavy choir robes he had long since abandoned due to the scorching near-summer heat.

He only wore his itchy ceremonial dress when it was absolutely necessary; it was always boiling or pouring in this part of Britain and black robes weren't exactly fitting for either. Roger simply wore his best cuffed dress shirts, along with stiff black pants and shiny shoes most of the time. They were still horrible, but one got used to the restrictive feeling. It was the more preferable of the two evils.

After a few minutes spent lost in thought Roger heard the faint scuffling sound of dress shoes surrounding him. He had no idea how they found him. Maybe one of the littluns squealed or some exasperating friend of the twins. Roger was still amazed they had any. He brought his legs in close to his chest and mentally prepared for a fight.

Truthfully Roger didn't have much understanding of coordinated violence; whatever he did know usually came from the instincts most called common sense, even though Roger knew it was more than that, and first-hand experience with his "parents". If it was just the two of them Roger could stand a chance, but there's power in numbers if they let their goons tag along.

Roger inhaled noiselessly and shamefully wished some of the choir boys were around to help him. He didn't really consider any of them friends, but together they worked like a well-oiled machine, together they could really hurt the twins.

Roger heard a stick snap inches behind him and turned around as he shot into the air. His bright green eyes grew wide and dulled when he realized just how outnumbered he was. The twins stood in the center of a half circle surrounding Roger's hiding place. Each boy was armed with tiny stones and a vicious grin. He scolded himself for being caught off guard.

Roger raised his hands defensively and tumbled backwards in the rock shower. He watched his legs pass over his head as the world turned upside down. His hand searched frantically for something to grip as he toppled over the picnic table. The lonely school boy bit his lip so he wouldn't scream as he was bumped and bruised by the fall. Roger shifted his weight a second before hitting the ground and avoided a particularly painful landing on his head, and landed on his knees instead.

The twins and their posse pursued with urgency while Roger scrambled to his feet and took off. His eyes darted over the grassy hills and greenery, ignoring the piercing pebbles as they bounced off his skinny body. He couldn't spare a glance at the shocked faces he passed or property destroyed in his path. Someone else might have wondered why nobody helped the poor boy, but there was an unspoken respect for the twins at this school, they weren't really bullies, and Roger was the outsider. With no teachers around no student would dare to question the horrifying twins and honestly Roger was too preoccupied to care.

He ran and ran, void of fear. In fact it was exhilarating. It was his smarts against theirs' and Roger had the upmost confidence he would come out on top. Not to mention he was many times faster than the boys following him. It was like a new sort of game. He could find a way to split them up and beat one of them senseless with nobody watching. Roger had never actually hurt someone before but the thought of it was empowering. He knew he shouldn't feel that way, but he couldn't help it. He had been nice and quiet for far too long, he didn't want to be either anymore, he wanted to be the one throwing stones. Someday, he promised himself, he'd be the one people feared.

Inadvertently veering towards the large, wooden school chapel where the choir boys practiced, Roger rolled into a bush. Hidden behind the brambles he waited as the treacherous group of boys crossed. He simultaneously rolled his eye and smiled with relief as he heard the boys argue about his position.

"I think he ran that way!" One of the mindless drones hollered and pointed to the forest that teemed with life.

"No way, I saw him run back into the school!" This time it was Drake and he had the first boy in a playful headlock. The other boys joined in, soon all but one was laughing and play-fighting in a dog pile far to close to Roger's hiding place.

"What does it matter where he went, as long as he was running away with his tail between his legs? What does it matter if-" Roger immediately grew sick at the calm way John delivered his words. The boy didn't even bother to smile and share with his friends in their minuscule victory, he stood with his arms crossed a foot away looking up at the sky. Suddenly John glanced down at the bush. There was a long pause as the other boys waited for him to finish. John's eyes flickered about, searching the branches for something meaningful. Maybe he found it, maybe he didn't, but Roger was frozen on his knees, not even his sweat dared to roll along his forehead until John looked away. If he had been caught there was no way Roger could have taken all of them at once. "We'd better get to class." The twin finished softly and stalked away. Soon Drake had dusted himself off and followed his brother with a trail of comrades.

As soon as the coast was clear Roger rolled onto his back. He eliminated the possibility of John purposefully not giving him away and grinned in bittersweet victory. Roger had successfully duped them, but failed to exercise his anger on the one. Now he knew precisely which twin he would go after first.

Roger momentarily forgot his personal vendetta against the world and stretched his dirty arms behind his head. He stayed behind the bush only because he was too lazy to move. The tiny branches provided just enough shade without taking away the view. It was a nice place; one Roger would want to remember. Its quiet wildness had a soothing affect on him, like all his problems, social, familial, or otherwise, just didn't matter anymore.

An insignificant ant hill had been built just inches from where Roger's arm rested. A smile slipped through his face and disappeared as he enjoyed the ant's happy and peaceful lives with care. Sometimes he wished he belonged to a group like the ants did.

He watched in interest as a group climbed back into their home with scraps of food on their backs. Things ran smoothly. Roger could have imagined it, but another group of ants met the gatherers with friction. His eyes narrowed as curiosity bubbled in his stomach. A hand dropped to his side and picked up a small stone that had caught in his clothing, before Roger realized it was his own, he had sent the stone spiraling into the hill. He was intrigued by the panic it caused. The food was forgotten and some of the ants had been squished, while others scattered quickly. As he observed some of the ants going back to help, Roger searched for something else to throw. His fingers enthralled the edgy surface of a rock. When this one landed there was nothing left of the ant's hills. Roger began to laugh quietly as the ants ran around in circles.

Roger wasn't quite aware of it yet, but something in him shifted. Suddenly he wasn't laughing, he wasn't smiling, and his features grew cold, emotionless. He wanted to finish them off, something inside him glared through his eyes with unreasonable resentment for the ants.

Roger picked up a much bigger rock and raised his arm far over his body. Out of the blue a hand wrapped around his and pulled him to his feet.

"Oh hey, what were you doing down there? What do you need that for?" Robert quickly forgot formalities and pointed to the rock Roger was still clinging to on his side. The boy in his full choir robes giggled a little and reached over, snatching the rock out of Roger's tight grip. His playful brown eyes admired it for a second and then chucked it over his shoulder.

"You're batty Rog'." He may have meant it as a joke, but Roger flushed furiously as he glanced back at the damage he caused and felt a twinge of guilt pull at the side of his brain.

Robert didn't know what to make of Roger's silence so they stood there awkwardly as Robert fixed his hat.

"You ought to put on your uniform before Merridew sees you. You know how is about those things."

Roger begrudgingly took out his robes and pulled them over his head. Robert helped him get his hat on straight and then they stared at each other in their ridiculous outfits and laughed.

"He's a good leader." Robert was the first to calm down. Roger just nodded.

"We better get to our lessons if we don't want Professor Golding to go barmy on us again." Roger nodded as Robert spoke under his breath and soon they were off on their way, perfectly instep.

"He's cracked you know." Robert didn't speak until they were in the towering school building.

"Who?" Roger spoke with offhand interest.

"Professor Golding, one time I heard him going on and on about how we'd get ourselves killed if we were left unattended, and I had only asked for a pencil!" Robert whispered so if by chance someone walked by they wouldn't hear his insults.

"Hmm…what if he's right?" Roger remembered the previous adventures of his day solemnly.

"Nonsense, it's like what Merridew is always saying, we're English, and the English are best at everything. We wouldn't-we couldn't- Hey can I borrow a pencil?' Robert tensed up a bit and switched subjects.

"You never have a pencil, do you?" Roger sifted through his now filthy satchel and showed Robert his only extra pencil. "Fine, but I accidentally sharpened this one at both ends."

"It'll do." Robert took it with a smile and they found their seats just as class began.

They had no idea that in a matter of minutes the school would receive an urgent telegram with an order to evacuate the students immediately.

**When I decided to make a Roger-centric fic I knew it would be a challenge, because, you know, he's psycho. Anyway, as you can see I met that challenge to the best of my abilities and punched it in the face, if I do say so myself. **

**I didn't, however, do this on my own. Roger and I would like to personally thank my weathery friend for betaing this for us. Thanks Girl!**

**Hope you enjoyed the story. **


	2. Before the Plane Takes Off

**I decided to expand this fic. I've been inspired to continue this in regard to each of the boys. Thanks Simon, this one's for you and bluetoothpaste!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Piggy or Lord of the Flies.**

Wilber Muck slipped his sausage-like fingers through the pillars of a rickety banister. His hands encircled the strongest one and his spectacles glazed over as he surveyed the empty candy store below his feet. Each candy was sorted by brand, then type, and then flavor. Everything was where it ought to be, but the shelves, like the stairs, were decaying.

The light tinkling of a bell met his ears and his eyes rose to the door. He wished the visitor could have been a friendly boy his age, maybe one blinder then he, but instead a portly woman in an oversized black dress waddled inside, his aunt.

"Wilber, you were supposed ready yourself sweetie. You'll be off soon." She removed a shawl from her shoulders and placed it next to the cash register.

"I were just on my way. I-I got my bags, I-I-I were planning to say goodbye to-to the littluns first." Tears lined his glasses while he hurried down the stairs, his bags thumping his side with every shallow breath. He was intercepted by his aunt at the final step. She collected him into a tight hug, letting his tears spill onto the black fabric of her dress.

"I thought you'd say that, they're right outside, but honey remember what I said about your sentences." She lifted his chin in the palm of her hand and kissed him on the cheek as he nodded and tried to catch his breath. "Be careful of your asthma, okay?" Wilber nodded again before slipping under her arm and padding towards the door.

"Piggy!" the door slammed behind Wilber and he looked incredulously at little red headed boy who had shouted the greeting.

"Oi, Piggy!"

"It's Piggy!" Four little children gathered around his knees giggling about their new joke.

"Hi Piggy!"

"My name's not Piggy, it's Wilber, and you all know that. How did you hear…?" Wilber's voice faded as he noticed another red head leaning against an overgrown tree on the other side of the road. Their eye's locked and a violent storm of rage rocked both boys. Wilber had a feeling this boy was the root of his problems.

"My brother, he told me!" The little red head giggled again and joyously tugged at Wilber's dress shirt. "He says your name is Piggy. Piggy!" He pointed to the suspicious figure that crossed his arms at his recognition.

"That's a lie. My name's Wilber. I've watched over you since you was tots. I know all your names and none of them is Piggy. Neither is mine." His blood boiled in the afternoon heat and he watched the figure slink away before looking down at the red headed littlun and his friends.

"Piggy! Piggy!" A choirs spread around him and his face grew red. The littlun skipped around innocently and laughed.

"No, no. Mine were Wilber. Stop, stop. Mine were Wilber! Stop Timothy!" The red headed littlun, Timothy, stopped in his tracks and stared up at Wilber with wide eyes. The others followed his lead. The smallest littlun rubbed his shoe into the ground and avoided Wilber's eyes, eyes that softened as he saw them look apologetically at the ground.

"There's a war on. They'll be taking us away group by group. I'm leaving, going on a big plane, to a nice place far, far away. You all might too as it were, but I leave today. I won't be seeing you, none of you, never again maybe." Their wide eyes filled with tears and they bawled into each other's back as Wilber whispered into the empty air.

"I'm sorry Wilber. I didn't mean nothing." A black haired littlun with defined features and a pointy nose stepped forward.

"Yea, we're all sorry. We don't want you to leave." Timothy hugged Wilber's thigh. Wilber pried him off carefully and kneeled down so he was eye level of the boys. He wiped a tear off of Timothy's face and pulled all of the littluns into a hug.

"I've got to, but I'll come back for you little ones. I-I've got to."

**It's short, I know. I hope you liked it! **

**So, was that boy Jack? Someone like him? That's up to your imagination. **

**Like I said in the description: cookies to anyone who gets the symbolism in either of these chapters. **

**Check out RainyDaze98's story Roger Learns to Celebrate.**


	3. Twice the Trouble

**Now for the Third installment of the Before the Island Show! Our next contestant, or should I say contestants are Samneric! …Yea that's all I've got.**

**Disclaimer: Is lame-er, anywho, I don't own Lord of the Flies, that's William's, I only own the paperback (but I didn't even pay for that. Thanks Auntie!). **

Two boys sat across from each other on the freshly cut lawn of their grandmother's house. Their mischievous brown eyes mirrored each other as they watched a frightened squirrel running across the grass. A golden retriever bounded after it and chased the little animal up a tree before doubling back to cover the twins in saliva. Both boys giggled and returned to their game of patty-cake after playing a bit with the dog.

Suddenly one of the boys dropped his hands to his lap and chuckled.

"Sam, I'm bored."

"I was just about to say that." The sparkle of an inside joke flickered across the brothers' features causing them to roll around clutching their stomachs in laughter. Eric, the first to speak, was also the first to calm down.

"I know what we should do-" Eric stood up, pulling Sam with him.

"-dig up the treasure we hid in Old Waxy's garden!" The boys nodded to each other, smiling. To their delight, and his displeasure, their cranky English teacher lived down the street from the twins' grandmother, making Mr. Orwell F. Waxy the perfect target for their good-natured pranks.

"One last bang-"

"-like real pirates!" Sam jumped sideways and put his hand to his forehead like he was scouting the open seas or a misty jungle terrain.

"Like real pirates…" Eric slipped into thought recalling their misadventures. Sam put his arm around Eric's neck.

"Well come on then. We've got adventuring to do." He led the way down the road, dragging Eric behind him. "We'll have loads-"

"-and loads of fun!"

"We always do." Sam pretended to put on a large Captain Hook style hat and bowed.

"We do, don't we?" Eric perked up and returned the gesture with a snigger. "Where are we off to captain?"

"Waxy Island boys! There be booty on that isle!" Eric saluted Sam as he paced back and forth in front of Eric, conjuring the best accent he could manage. "Hoist the main sail!"

"Yes 'ir" Eric mock-prepared the sails.

"Set courses for the Northern Seas!"

"Yes 'ir"

"We're off, mangy sea-dogs, ye better pray we return!"

"Return with the gold, or not at all!" The boys laughed and soon they were racing to a white manor with neatly trimmed shrubberies lining the perimeter. They stopped on the side of its neighboring house and caught their breath.

Sam kept his back to the cold brick wall and peered around the corner. Waxy's car was absent and the lights were off. The wind brushed the boys' short hair and a chill struggled against the afternoon heat. A storm was coming.

"To the back?" Sam pointed behind them.

"Absolutely!"

"Shhh." Sam covered Eric's mouth and chuckled. "What if the Reds find us?" He lifted an eyebrow and suddenly the pirates transformed into soldiers in the heat of battle.

"Sorry." Eric blushed at his ridiculous risk to their lives. Sam motioned wildly in some kind of code and they ran behind the brick house. They climbed over a picket fence and into a backyard filled with sandboxes and slides. Sam halted in his tracks to examine the neat toys causing Eric to trip over himself and into a soft patch of grass.

"Sam!" Eric hissed to his brother. "The mission." Sam looked down at Eric like he had just been snapped out of a trance.

"Oh." He helped his brother up with a self-conscious giggle. "But look at this stuff. Remember when Daddy bought us one of those." Sam pointed at a tiny swing set. Eric smiled a bit but cleared his head quickly and pushed his brother over the next fence.

There was a small strip of grass between the houses that the boys hurried over. Sam crushed a bed of roses as he launched himself over Waxy's wooden fence, Eric followed suit, even crushing his own bed of flowers.

Waxy's yard was plain and dull. A single flower patch decorated the area. Sam stretched out an arm to brace Eric.

"You remember where we buried it?"

"You don't?" Eric looked at his brother; it wasn't like him to forget important things like treasure.

"Sure I do. Umm..." Sam looked around and walked slowly into the flower bed. "Between the roses and daffodils."

Both boys quickly took to plowing through the dirt. Handful by handful they threw plants out of their way. They were astonished find some of the flowers were as fake as phone salesmen, but at last the corner of an ebony box appeared.

Just as the end seemed in sight Eric heard the turning of a doorknob.

"Sam!" He whispered hoarsely. Sam nodded gravely.

"Just keep digging, the enemy can wait."

"But Sam, we'll get caught." As if summoned by the challenge the door swung open. A red haired boy with a shovel in his hand shuffled out and stopped dead when he noticed the boys. Sam felt Eric's shoulders tense up next to him, his breathing slowed.

"Mr. Waxy! Mr. Waxy!" The boy turned on his heels and yelled into the dark house. The professor sprinted into the garden at the sound of his name with a pair of car keys tangling half-way out of his pocket and sweat seeping off his forehead.

"He runs fairly quickly for a man of his age and…um, mass." Sam's hand shielded the comment to any other than his twin.

"Sam!" This seemed to be Eric's new favorite word to hiss. "He can hear you." Eric slapped Sam's hand away from his face and they glared at each other before standing up and facing their punishment.

"Boys, what in God's name are you doing in my yard?" Mr. Waxy crossed his stubby arms in frustration. His frown intensified as he watched both boys squirm and fidget quietly like ants under a magnifying glass. "Well? Am I going to get an answer?" Sam stepped forward slightly and opened his mouth to speak, but under the pressure of a thousand eyes he found his way back to his original spot and examined the ground.

"We were taking back our treasure sir." Eric's voice barely broke through his lips, but it was enough to renew Sam's courage.

"Yeah, we put it here and we're not leaving without it!" Sam placed his hands on his hips and nodded, more to ensure his own resolve then anything else. "Sir." He added quickly, dropping his hands back to his sides and smiling sweetly.

"Oh, so you've been in my garden before, have you?" Sam gulped. "I'll have to do something about that. Have either you boys a police record?" Mr. Waxy arched an eyebrow and sneered. "Breaking and entering, that's a crime you know. So is destroying private property." He spared a side glance at the flowerbed. "Lovely what you've done to the place by the way."

"Oh sir, don't tell the police!" Eric pressed his palms together with a pleading expression on his face.

"We didn't mean it, we're just kids!" Sam mimicked his brother.

"-just kids sir!"

"Please sir, don't tell, don't tell the police, and don't tell our mother." The twins spoke in perfect concurrency. When they realized how in-sync their motions were they stopped and stared at each other in perplexed awe.

"Wizard." Sam murmured to himself. Eric just brushed off the odd coincidence and turn back to Mr. Waxy.

"Amusing little trick the two of you have, but that's besides the point-"

"We won't be here for much longer." Sam gathered his thoughts again.

"And we won't be back for who knows how long." Eric shoved his hand into his pockets.

"They're sending us off, there's a war on. What's the point in punishing us now?" Sam flashed a toothy grin. "Have a heart Sir."

Mr. Waxy's eyebrows furrowed. What the boys said was true, but they really deserved a good paddling for all the problems they've caused him. He pondered the option for a moment before deciding to let them go.

"Alright." Mr. Waxy looked around for the gardening boy to no avail. The boys sighed.

"No witnesses." Eric cringed. Sam nodded. "Wizard." He mumbled.

"You two can go."

"What!" They were stunned.

"After you tend to the flowers."

"Really?"

"Just this once." Sam and Eric high-fived, and then Sam did a half cart-wheel, landing on his back. The twins chuckled loudly.

"Wacco!"

"Wizard!"

"Shazam!"

"Hurray!" They flew into a frenzy, giggling and jumping around.

"Get to it boys." Mr. Waxy's voice was twice as stern.

"Yes sir." Eric calmed his brother down and they began to replant the roses.

**It feels a little short, hmmm, too bad. **

**Thank you for all the reviews, they really keep me going in this nine to five world, and a special thanks to RainyDaze98 for keeping my chapters as error free as possible. **


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